I was shaking by the time I parked and walked into the police station, alternately expectant and terrified of what I might learn. The building itself was no more pleasant than it had been during my last visit. The walls were dingy, and the lobby area smelled faintly of ammonia.
Once I identified myself, I was whisked into the back of the building and a small conference room. The same officer who greeted me the first day I came here offered me a cup of coffee and informed me that Agent Wilcox and Detective Michelson would arrive at any moment.
The officer brought me the coffee a couple of minutes later. It was unpleasant tasting, slightly burnt and exactly what I needed at that point. I sat down at the heavily scratched table and waited.
Agent Wilcox came into the room first. “Good morning, Erin.” He busied himself connecting his laptop to a small projector. By the time he finished and turned the projector on, Melody arrived. She sat down across from me and said, “Stan, it’s your show.”
He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when the door opened. It was the precinct captain, Ed Ramos. He said, “Go ahead, I’m just going to observe.”
Wilcox didn’t look precisely annoyed, but he clearly wasn’t thrilled about the new arrival.
“I want to be up front, Erin, so we have clear expectations. I don’t know if you have read much about the technology we use, but the magnitude of this task is incredible. Something like one million prostitution ads are posted every single day. Most of them on Backpage, but also on a variety of other sites. We work with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and several technology companies to archive those ads, get them into databases, and search for faces.”
I nodded. “I’m familiar with the program.”
“We’ve been obstructed by the fact that as far as we could tell, no ads were ever posted that showed a clear view of Brenna’s face. Without that, it was near impossible to imagine we’d be able to get a hit on a photo in one of the ads. But the mug shot changed things. It’s a very unusual and distinctive tattoo on her neck, and she has what appears to be a scar from a cigarette burn on her collarbone. The center fed those into the computer and we finally got a match.”
I swiveled my head to look at Melody then back to Stan. He pulled up a series of images on the computer. I put my hand over my heart, as if that could somehow contain the sharp pain I felt. The first ad was clearly Brenna. She stood in profile to the camera with her face mostly turned away. The dragon tattoo was clear on her neck. She wore almost no clothes.
The headline said: Strawberry, 5’5” young fantasy. $200.
Stan gave me the compassionate look, but it did nothing to ease the severe pain I felt in my chest as the panic attack began to overwhelm me. I tried to breathe, as slowly and deeply as I could, to combat the feeling that I was suffocating.
“I’m not going to show you any more pictures of her. But that’s her. Almost certainly.”
I nodded and squeaked out the word, “Yes.”
He said, “That particular ad was posted in San Diego about five months after Brenna went missing. Between the picture, the phone number, and the street name, we have a lot more to go on. She goes by Strawberry—we’ve known that since her arrest—and she’s often with another woman using the name Nialla. They’ve been all over the country, usually for a month or two at a time at any given spot.”
I nodded and listened, struggling to stay calm.
“You okay?” Melody asked.
I nodded fervently but said nothing.
Stan said, “We’re certain that both girls are controlled by a pimp. He’s dangerous. After correlating the phone numbers and the locations over the past two years, we believe it’s possible he murdered two girls: one in Orlando about a year ago, the other in Las Vegas last month. It’s possible that a john committed the murders in both cases, or someone else, but unlikely.”
Melody leaned forward. “Why do you think it was the same killer?”
“Both girls were shot in the back of the head with a large caliber pistol. They were executed. I’m waiting for ballistics results, but we should know in another day or so if these two women were killed by the same weapon.”
I was intentionally breathing as slowly as I could, trying not to hyperventilate. “What else do we know now?”
“We’ve been able to plot out their movements over the past couple of years. They’ve switched up their phones a couple of times but have generally used the same photos in different cities.” He paused for a moment, as if reconsidering whether or not he wanted to say what he was about to say. “We know that the scar that appears to be a cigarette burn first appeared in her pictures about nine months ago. She’s been in at least fourteen different cities, possibly more, but that’s all we were able to identify from the ads.”
I shook my head. “Is that why it’s been so difficult to find her?”
He shrugged. “Among other things. It’s not unusual for pimps to move trafficked women around from place to place. They’ll do everything they can to keep the women isolated, friendless, rootless.”
“Okay. What else?” I was getting my breathing under control and was able to get the words out with some semblance of normality.
Stan said, “Going back through the ads from the same phone numbers, there are matches for ads for the other girl, Nialla.” He typed on his computer for a couple of moments and two more ads appeared on the screen. The face was blurry but somewhat visible. “The first time this ad appeared for her was a little bit less than two years before Brenna disappeared. That timeframe matches up with the disappearance of this girl.”
He pulled up another picture, this one a yearbook photo of a young woman with light brown hair. She had a warm smile and looked directly at the camera. A gold chain with a tiny cross hung around her neck. “This is Laura Felker. She went to meet some friends at the mall one day about four years ago and was never seen again. The last photo we have of her was taken at the mall by a security camera.”
He talked again and pulled up a photo I recognized. I felt a chill; I remembered seeing this photo on the news. I looked at it for a moment and felt my chest tighten and my breathing grew shallow again.
In the photo, the girl was dressed in a miniskirt and tank top. She was walking with a taller man, lean and muscular with tattoos all over his arms. No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.
“I’ve seen him.” My voice came out in a squeak.
Stan and Melody simultaneously said, “What?”
“He was at The Knights Club this afternoon. I spoke with him. I gave him a flyer and asked if he’d seen her.” As I spoke, the pitch of my voice rose higher and higher. I was nauseous. He must have known who I was. He was laughing at me.
The detective and the FBI agent looked at each other, both of them shocked. Then Melody said, “You’re certain?”
I nodded.
She turned to the captain, who had been standing silently against the wall. “What are the odds we can get a warrant to dust the place?”
The captain said, “Probably not that good, at least not to do a broad search. But we might be able to get a warrant limited to checking the security cameras and finding out where he sat and moved and dust just those places. It’s worth a try. We’ll have to move quick though, that place starts getting busy in the late afternoon. Once a couple hundred guys have been in there, there’ll be no chance of getting usable prints.”
Melody nodded. “Okay. We’ll try to get an ID on the pimp that way.”
Wilcox said, “This is the final piece of information we have. It’s from the security cameras at Dave’s Diner here in Portland—where we had breakfast the other day.”
He pulled up another photo.
I let out a long sigh. In a corner booth was that man. He had tattoos all over his arms. Muscular arms and legs. His expression was hard. On either side of him were Brenna and the other girl, Laura.
I wanted to cry. I took a sip of the hideous coffee in hopes of wetting my throat. “What do we do now? Since we know they’re here.”
“You are not going to do anything,” Stan said. “Neither of your kids will be helped if you end up getting killed. We’re going to collect a small joint task force and set up an appointment with her. It’ll be tomorrow night, and—”
I interrupted. “Why tomorrow? Why not tonight?”
He shook his head. “We tried to set one up for tonight, but they’re booked up. And we can’t afford to rattle this guy … first, because he might leave town suddenly, and second, because we can’t take any chance that he’s going to hurt the girls. Do you understand? We will want you close by, so you can come immediately once we have her.”
I nodded. “Okay. But I want to be really close. Put me in the same hotel a few doors down? Or another floor?”
Wilcox nodded at me then looked at the captain. “How many officers do you think you can detail for this?”
The captain said, “If necessary I’ll get you the SWAT team.”
Wilcox shook his head. “Once we have Brenna, we’ll get the address from her for where they are staying. We’ll need the SWAT team on standby for that. But for the initial operation, can you detail four officers? I should be able to get some assets from the field office too.”
Stan turned to me. “I want you to stop canvassing with the flyers now. We’re getting close, and we don’t want to spook them and have them rush out of town before tomorrow night. Understood?”
“Yes.” I said. But then I spoke the words I’d been afraid of. “What if it’s too late? If they’re running now because I talked to him?”
“We know their phone numbers and street names and photos now. Worst case, if they leave Portland, we should be able to identify where they go pretty quickly. I don’t want you to panic about that. I’ve got a couple of agents who are calling every once in a while from different numbers to see if they can get an earlier appointment. Just in case somebody cancels or doesn’t show. Different voices each time so they won’t suspect.”
I closed my eyes. I wanted to call that number. But I couldn’t.
“Okay. Just tell me where to be and I’ll be there. I’ll do whatever it takes. And Stan … one favor? Are you in touch with the parents? Of Laura Felker?”
He nodded. “We have someone from the response unit visiting them this evening to let them know what’s happening and that we believe we’ve found her.”
“Would it be possible … I mean … I’d like to talk with her mother.”
Wilcox gave me a long, compassionate look. Then he said, “I’ll find out if we can give you her number. But I don’t know that it will do you any good.”
Sam
Dad and I took turns driving from seven in the morning until eleven that night, when we finally gave in to exhaustion and stopped in Burley, Idaho. We stayed in an even grosser hotel than the night before—a tiny one floor brick building with half a dozen rooms. The word MOTEL in three-foot high block letters was mounted on the roof, and between the doors were plastic chairs.
Dad turned up his nose when we got there. “Maybe we should try some place else?”
“This looks cheap,” I said. “And we’re only going to be here for a few more hours.”
“Point,” he said. “We’ve only got about nine hours left … I’m figuring if we leave early enough, we can be there mid-afternoon.”
He went and checked in while I fumbled with getting our things together. After two long days in the van, it was starting to look like a real mess. A few minutes later he came out.
“Well, we’re in room three,” he said.
Once inside, we both had second thoughts. The walls looked mildewed and the two beds looked saggy.
“It’s just for a few hours,” he said.
So we got ready for bed. I was both wired and exhausted. The news that the police were going to try to make contact with Brenna tomorrow night had me jittery. But I needed to rest.
First, I sent a Snapchat to Hayley. It showed half my face on one side of the picture, with our crappy hotel room in the background. I added the caption “5 Stars” to the photo.
She messaged back: Where are u?
Me: Idaho.
Hayley: Basically nowhere.
Me: We’ll get to Portland tomorrow. My mom called. The cops think they’ve identified Brenna and they’re going to try to arrange a meetup. Like … an appointment. Then snatch her away from whoever has her.
Hayley: That’s exciting. Scary even.
Me: What’s happening with you?
Hayley: They can’t find Mom. She’s off doing meth somewhere.
Me: Will they send you back to ur dad?
Hayley: Foster home. Probably. Or stay in the emergency shelter for a while. I hope not it’s scary here
Me: I wish u could stay with me
Hayley: Me 2
Me: Good night. Let me know what happens tomorrow? Text me? I’ll be on the road all day.
Hayley: Good night
There was a thirty-second delay, maybe even a minute, as I got situated under the covers. Then my phone beeped again.
“Can you turn that thing off? Or silence it?” Dad sounded groggy.
“Okay,” I answered. Then I looked at Hayley’s message.
It said: I love you
I answered back right away: ily2
I didn’t know if she meant it as a friend … or what? Right now it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was my best friend. That I had a best friend.
“Dad?” I said once the lights were out.
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Do you think Mom … how will … how will she react? To me?”
Dad was silent for a long time. Long enough that I started to think he’d fallen asleep. But it turned out he was just thinking about the question, giving it real consideration. He finally responded.
“Your mom loves you. I think that’s more powerful than any questions or concerns she may have. We both love you.”
With that, we both drifted off to sleep.
Brenna
The door closed with a loud clang when Rick stepped outside. He’d be out there smoking and talking on the phone for a while. Then he’d come in and fuck one of us and pass out snoring.
We didn’t dare try to sneak out while he was sleeping. Rick kept his gun under his pillow when he slept.
“Strawberry,” Nialla whispered. “I’ve got a plan.”
“What is it?”
“Tomorrow night, once we get on the road. I want you to pretend you’re sick. Really sick. Start complaining in the morning about an upset stomach. We’ll make him stop at the first rest stop out of town. He’ll send us in together—once we’re in there, we’ll ask someone to call the police. We stay in the women’s room. You be loud, sick.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked. “He’ll kill us.”
“No way. Not if he’s got that eighth grader in the car. He’ll put the car in drive and just go. Or even better, they’ll arrest him.”
“What about when he gets out? He’ll come for us, Nialla.”
“We’ll be long gone. I mean it. I’ve been stashing money. I’ve got fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Holy shit! I thought he looked in your purse! He’d kill you for sure if he knew you had that much.”
“Fuck him. It’s under the sole of my sneakers. I cut out a square in there.”
“Jesus,” I said. My heart was thumping. Could we really get away? For just a second the idea flashed through my mind: if I told Rick about the money he’d be grateful. Maybe he’d finally trust me. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me anymore.
But this was Nialla.
“You just … be sick, okay? Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I can do it.”
“This time tomorrow we’ll be free,” Nialla said.
I closed my eyes and prayed she was right. But I didn’t think she was. Rick was too smart and too dangerous for that kind of trick. He’d kill us.
That was fine. I didn’t want to live any longer. Better I die now, rather than let him hurt my family any more.