by Matt Lincoln
“Sorry,” I apologized placatingly. “Look, it’s already lunchtime. Do you want to go get something to eat? We can stretch our legs and see what’s around the new office.”
“That sounds perfect,” Miranda grinned as she sprung up out of her chair. It was almost frightening how quickly her mood could change.
“Let’s go.” I rolled my eyes as I led the way out of the office. I was happy to pull Miranda out of her funk, and I was glad to have an excuse to take my mind off of the case for a while.
11
Naomi
“So it seems everyone had the same story,” I sighed as I fell onto the couch with much less grace than I normally would have allowed myself while in public. However, after nearly five straight hours of conducting interrogations, I was willing to let decorum fall by the wayside. “They had no idea where the children came from, aside from ‘somewhere in the Caribbean,’ and the Weavers were the ones who handled everything for them.”
“Sounds about right to me,” Junior agreed as he took a seat on the other end of the couch.
“Almost seems like a waste to have done the second half of the interviews,” Charlie grumbled from the chair situated opposite to the couch. “Everyone said pretty much exactly the same thing.”
“We had to be thorough,” I muttered. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. It seems as though all we did was waste our own time with precious little to show for it.”
“How can people just participate in something like this?” Charlie spat. “Without even knowing the details or how it’s being done? All these people just handed money over to the Weavers and didn’t bother asking any questions about where the kids were coming from or how they were getting here?”
“Out of sight, out of mind,” Junior shrugged. “They probably didn’t want to think about it. If they did, they might actually feel bad about what they were doing.”
My skin crawled at his words, and I felt an unshakable need to have a shower. After five hours of hearing people attempt to justify and excuse their abhorrent behavior, I felt incredibly unclean.
“Most people don’t like to think about it,” I frowned. “But the fact is that slavery is far from over. It’s still being practiced in several countries around the world, including the United States. Not out in the open, of course, but it’s happening, nonetheless.”
“I knew human trafficking was a real problem,” Charlie groaned. “But my mind just always went to sex crimes. I’d never really thought about it happening to kids.”
“A lot of people don’t,” I remarked bitterly. “That’s the problem. We can’t stop a crime if no one is even aware that it’s happening. Back home, people were a little more aware of it, but here in the United States, no one even knows it's going on right under their noses. Atlanta and New York City, in particular, are big centers of the human trafficking trade because of their large international airports. It’s so easy for people to just slip through the cracks, especially children.”
It was a somber topic of conversation, and the three of us lapsed into a morose silence after that.
“Agents, there you are,” Wallace announced as he stepped into the break room. “Have you finished the interrogations?”
“We have,” I answered as I sat up straighter. “I’m afraid we didn’t learn very much. At the very least, everyone’s stories seemed consistent. We can conclude that the Weavers were the ones orchestrating the entire scheme. But, since they’re dead, that does leave us at an impasse.”
“I already suspected as much,” Wallace frowned. “Agent Gardner was able to find a phone number on Daniel Weaver’s computer that we believe belongs to the person who was sending the children here from the Caribbean, but unfortunately, she was unable to trace it. For now, I’d like Agent Hills and Agent Patel to go see a woman named Sandra Baker. She runs an anti-trafficking organization called Hope for Children here in Las Vegas that the Weavers were apparently familiar with. It’s possible that Hope for Children knew something about the Weavers, which would explain why they seemed so preoccupied with that group in particular. In the meantime, I am going to ask Agent Gardner to look into the phone number again. Even if she can’t trace it directly, she might be able to find something else about it.”
“We’ll head there right away,” I replied as I stood up.
“Yeah, I could use some fresh air,” Charlie grunted as he followed suit.
“Good,” Wallace nodded. “Agent Chapman, I know you were taking notes on all the interrogations. Could you please compile them into a single document and send it to me?”
“Of course,” Junior agreed readily.
“Excellent,” Wallace nodded. “Let’s get to work then.”
Charlie and I left the office and headed down the elevator and to the parking lot. It was two in the afternoon now, and although the heat had felt unbearably hot this morning, the warmth felt good now after spending such a long time in the air-conditioned building.
“My back hurts after sitting in that chair for so long,” Charlie grumbled as we made our way over to the company car. “I get that they’re deliberately made to be uncomfortable for the purpose of the interrogation, but do we have to sit in them too?”
“It’s not every day we have to arrest an entire street full of people,” I huffed. “Hopefully, it’s not an experience we’ll have to repeat any time soon.
The drive over to the Hope for Children headquarters didn’t take very long. It wasn’t on the strip, but it was close enough that the traffic was still heavy as cars filtered in and out of the center of the city. It was located in a small, unassuming, two-story office building that actually looked deserted aside from the long sign over the door that read: Hope for Children.
“Seems a little run down,” Charlie remarked as we got out of the car.
“It is a non-profit,” I remarked, though I too was less than impressed by the building’s facade. “Perhaps they actually take that moniker seriously and devote all of their money to their cause. The fact that child trafficking isn’t a well-publicized issue probably doesn’t help matters.”
We walked up to the entrance, and it surprised me to find the door locked when I tried to open it.
“The lights are off,” Charlie noted as he peered into one of the windows by the door. “Maybe they’re closed.”
“I hope we didn’t just waste our trip here,” I frowned, and a moment later, my hopes were answered when a short, plump woman walked into view of the door. She noticed us standing outside and quickly scurried over to unlock the door.
“Oh no,” she gushed as she pushed the door open. “Have you been waiting long? I’m sorry about that. We almost never get anyone coming in, and I just feel safer having the door locked when I’m here on my own.”
“It’s perfectly understandable,” I assured her as she stepped aside to let us enter. The inside of the building was furnished with cute and cozy looking furniture, and now that we were inside, I could see lights on at the other end of the building. “Are you Ms. Sandra Baker?”
“That’s me,” the stout woman answered with a warm smile. The lines around her eyes crinkled as she did, and her bushy brown hair framed her round face in a way that made her look friendly and kind. “And who might you two be?”
“I’m Agent Patel with the Military Border Liaison Services,” I introduced myself as I pulled my credentials out of my bag. “And this is Agent Hills. We were hoping to consult with you about a case we’re currently working on.”
“Does this have to do with the little girl they found in that rich neighborhood?” Sandra suddenly interrupted.
“Yes, actually,” I nodded. “Do you know something about it?”
“I’m afraid not,” she replied sadly. “I just heard about it on the news. Such a terrible situation, isn’t it? It’s such a shame that organizations like ours are so under-funded. It makes it difficult for us to even make a dent in helping children in need.” Just as she mentioned children, I heard a
high-pitched laugh and the sound of a child babbling something that sounded like Patois.
“Do you have children here now, Ms. Baker?” I asked.
“Oh, those are my foster kids,” she beamed as she looked fondly toward the sound. “It’s hard to find their parents sometimes once they’re over here. The kids can’t always communicate well, or there’s just no way to track down where the parents are. Most of them end up in the foster care system, which can be so scary for kids who are stuck in a foreign country. I try to do everything I can, including opening up my home for as many as I can until we can send them back to their families.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I replied. Sandra just gave me a weak smile in return.
“As I said,” she shook her head sadly. “It hardly makes a dent. I mean, look at all of those kids you found right here in Nevada. It seems like no matter what I do, there are always more. But anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to me lament my own shortcomings. Is there anything I can do to help you with the case?”
“Did you notice any suspicious activity in or around your organization the past few months?” I asked. “We found one of your pamphlets in the Weavers’ home, and a search of their internet browsing history revealed that they’d visited the Hope for Children website several times in the past. It’s possible they might have had some kind of interaction with your organization.”
“Well, let me think,” Sandra hummed. “I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary. We’ve assisted the police on a few cases, but I can’t remember anything that really stood out, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe one of your employees saw something?” Charlie chimed in.
“We’re mostly volunteer-based,” Sandra informed us. “I only have a couple of employees who run the website and help with accounting and clerical work, but that’s all done remotely. No one really comes into the office aside from myself. I’m so sorry that I don’t have anything better to tell you.”
“It’s alright,” I replied, though I felt disappointed that this was apparently another dead end. “What can you tell us about the human trafficking trade throughout the Caribbean Islands? We have reason to believe that that’s where most of the children were brought here from.”
“Well, it’s difficult to say with certainty,” she frowned. “It’s impossible to get any concrete statistics, of course, considering that it’s an underground business. It certainly does happen, though, in my experience, most cases of modern-day slavery are confined to the country itself in the form of unpaid child labor. Cases in which children are actually moved from one country to another are much rarer. There’s much more risk involved, although the reward would be much higher.”
“What do you mean by ‘reward’?” Charlie asked.
“The United States is a much wealthier country,” Sandra explained. “Using a child for free labor in, say, Jamaica, will save someone the cost of hiring a laborer, but selling a child to a rich couple in the United States will earn them a much bigger profit, and quicker to boot.”
“I see,” I nodded. I felt disgusted, but at least we were learning a little about the perpetrators' motivations. “Does your organization have the resources to find the parents of the trafficked children? There are currently six children involved in our case, with at least one more unaccounted for. We could certainly use the help in getting them back home to their families.”
“I’d love to help,” Sandra exclaimed, smiling widely. “That’s what Hope for Children is for, after all. I’ll get started right away. Could I just get your names and contact information? That way, I’ll be able to call you as soon as I learn anything.”
“Of course,” I responded as I handed her one of my business cards. Charlie did the same. “Well, we won’t take up any more of your time, Ms. Baker. Please don’t hesitate to call us with any information.”
“Of course, dear,” Sandra smiled. “Oh, and be careful if you do end up heading to the Caribbean to investigate. The laws there are different from the ones we have here, and they aren’t always favorable toward women and children. That’s probably what makes it so easy for trafficking to happen unchecked. I fear you’re likely to run into problems with the locals if you try to stick your noses where you shouldn’t.”
“Thank you for the advice,” I nodded. “We’ll keep that in mind.” With that, I turned and left the building with Charlie following close behind.
“She sure was nice,” Charlie commented bitingly once we were outside the building.
“Why do you say it like that?” I asked, having noted the sarcastic tone in his voice.
“The whole Mother Teresa act didn’t seem a little forced to you?” he asked as he opened the driver’s side door.
“You think she was lying?” I asked, glancing back toward the building.
“No,” Charlie frowned. “I just think she was laying it on a bit thick. Like she wanted us to think she was a saint or something.”
“She sort of is,” I shrugged as I climbed into the passenger seat. “She’s taking displaced children into her own home. She’s dedicating her life to a cause very few people even care about. She seemed like a lovely person.”
“I’m not saying she’s not,” Charlie muttered as he started the car. “I just got this phony vibe from her, I guess.”
“You need to try to be more social,” I scolded him. “Not everyone is hiding something, Charlie.”
“Now that’s a lie,” Charlie snorted. “Everyone’s got secrets, Patel. Even you and me. You should know that better than anyone, considering you used to be a politician.”
I huffed out a small laugh. He had me there. I couldn’t deny that. I definitely had my own fair share of dark secrets.
“In any case,” I changed the subject as Charlie drove out of the parking lot and onto the main street. “We should head back to the office. We may not have learned anything, but we’ve at least found someone knowledgeable about the matter to collaborate with.”
Even as I said that, I was still disappointed that the visit hadn’t yielded better results, and I hoped that the following day would prove to be more productive.
12
Charlie
“The supplier lives in Las Vegas,” Fiona announced as she stepped out of her office and into the bullpen.
Naomi, Junior, Miranda, and I gathered around at our desks to discuss the case to see if there were any angles he hadn’t examined yet. Even Wallace was hovering around, adding his input whenever we hit a lull. All five of us fell silent and looked up at her as she spoke.
“I feel so stupid for missing it earlier,” she continued. “The phone number that Daniel Weaver had been texting had a seven-zero-two area code, which would mean it was a local Las Vegas number. I assumed it was spoofed because what were the odds that the person we were looking for was right here in the same city, right? I contacted the phone company asking for the records connected to the number, and they confirmed that it was a real number registered here in Nevada, but the name and address it was registered under were clearly fake.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Miranda furrowed her brows together in confusion. “How does it being under a fake name prove that the supplier’s in Las Vegas?”
“It’s registered with a local company,” Fiona explained. “If someone overseas had spoofed it, then I would have found a real person at a real address whose number had been stolen. That wasn’t the case here. Someone local went into this branch and registered the phone under a fake name and used the address of a local hair salon. The company said that whoever registered the phone would have had to have it physically with them at the time they registered it. They also confirmed that the phone had sent calls and texts out to other numbers, all within the Las Vegas city limits.”
“That sounds like pretty solid evidence to me,” Naomi muttered.
“Do you have the names and addresses linked to the other numbers the supplier was calling?” I asked.
“I do,” Fiona nodded. “He made c
alls to two other numbers in the past two months. The phone company has given me the contact information tied to those numbers as well.”
“What about the hair salon?” Wallace asked. “It’s possible the supplier just used it as a convenient address, but we can’t discount the possibility that someone working in or around there is related to the case.”
“I’ve got the address already,” Fiona informed us. “I emailed copies of all the information I found to everyone.”
“Excellent work, Agent Gardner,” Wallace praised her. “We’ve narrowed down our search area to Las Vegas. That’s still a pretty big area, but it’s more than what we had before. We’ll have two agents head to the salon while two follow up on--”
“Director Wallace,” Agent Nelson suddenly interrupted as he stepped out of his office and into the bullpen. “I just got off the phone with the police. There’s been a development in the case.” Nelson looked shaken, and a sense of foreboding built inside me as I watched him approach.
“What’s wrong?” Wallace asked, clearly noting that something was off by Nelson’s demeanor.
“It’s about the children,” Nelson frowned. “They underwent some medical examinations as part of the standard procedure in the case of missing children. Thankfully, there were no signs of sexual or severe physical abuse, but upon close examination, something peculiar was found on one of the children’s ears.” Nelson held his phone out to Wallace, and I could see his eyes go wide with shock as he looked at whatever was on the photo. I stepped forward instinctively, curiosity taking over.
“Is that an earring?” I asked. The thing was so tiny it was difficult to make out the fine details.
“Yes,” Nelson replied gravely. “Do you recognize the design?” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about until he swiped to the next image to reveal a close-up shot of the earring. When he did, I almost gasped in shock. It was the same damned flower symbol we’d run into during the sex trafficking case in Japan nearly four months ago.