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Michaela and Slade moved away from the booth filled with police officers to a smaller table where they could talk privately and discuss the deaths of Constance and Sarah Smirkowitz. Mic hadn't missed the “knowing” looks several of her old buddies had given her. She watched Angel struggle into a comfortable position on his cushion next to the wooden table. She needed to take him in to the vet to see if there was another medicine for him. His hip was giving him such pain.
She looked down at her plate and studied her Shepherd’s pie. It was pretty tasty so she took another bite. She tried to put her thoughts about Dottie in order. She filled him in on what she could remember.
Slade devoured his dinner and pushed his empty plate aside. "Okay, Mic. What else did Dottie say she overheard in Smirkowitz’s office? I've got two guys trying to track down info on the Russian guy, but it might be a couple of days before something pops.”
Mic nodded and sipped her water. “I think I’ve told you everything. What do you think about the state police investigation that didn’t go anywhere? Do you think this is an international crime incident?”
Slade continued. “Yeah. I do. I called in the feds because, from what you told me via Dottie and your friend from the state police, it sounds like some sort of a human trafficking or sex trade scheme is goin’ on. Especially, if they're talking about bidding."
Mic shuddered when she thought about the possibility of young women being sold into slavery. "Are you all working on anything else that involves human trafficking? Is there evidence of that happening here in Richmond?"
Slade slouched in his chair. "We get reports of it from time to time, but we chase it down and there’s nothing. Frankly, I'm of the opinion that happens a lot, especially with illegals that enter the U.S.”
Mic listened as her stomach soured. “Yeah, I’m sure it happens more than we want to know,” she answered as she reached for the water glass.
Slade nodded, his dark eyes flashing, “Human traffickers prey on the poorest people in the world, recruit young men and woman and promise them the world ... jobs as fashion models, movie stars, a college education, just name it.” Slade noted the look of revulsion on Mic’s face. “I can see you get my drift.”
Mic nodded, a pain in her gut. She’d lost her appetite. “What else? What else is happening here?”
Slade was quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts. “There’s some speculation that young women are smuggled into Richmond because it's a port city. Generally, they’re smuggled to Egypt, the Mediterranean, or the Middle East, or just about anywhere else in the world, especially if they’re American women with blond or light-colored hair. Do we have proof? Nope, not really," Slade reported. “I do think it’s happening a lot.” He mopped up the spreading beer with his napkin and signaled for a waiter.
Mic watched the Guinness spread over the table. She shook her head and said, "That disgusts me and boils my blood," she retorted angrily.
Slade nodded. "Yeah me, too. I hate the exploitation of anyone for someone else's gain, animal or human. It just pisses me off."
Mic was quiet for a moment as she reached down and patted Angel who was busily chewing on a steak bone. "I guess we’ve got to assume that this is what happened to Allison. There’s a real possibility that she's been abducted to be trafficked to another country as part of an international human trafficking ring? Maybe an international trafficking ring that Nicholas Smirkowitz runs?" She gave Slade an uncertain look.
Slade pondered her question. "Yeah, that's possible although I hope not, but we’ve gotta consider it." He was quiet for a moment and continued, "That's why I called in the FBI. An agent from the Richmond office is gonna meet us here in about forty-five minutes. Is there a quiet place we can go and talk?"
"Sure. We can use my office," Mic advised as she played with the Shepherd's pie on her plate. It’d been a good ten minutes ago when she’d had her first bite, but now she’d lost all appetite. She looked at her cell phone and noted she had a voicemail. She picked it up and listened as her face paled.
"What is it?" Slade demanded. Mic handed him the phone. "It's a message from the young woman, Danielle, the young girl I met today outside of Smirkowitz’s office. She left it a few minutes ago. She thought someone was after her, and then I heard her scream."
Slade grabbed the phone and listened to the message. "We’ll find her," he advised as he called for backup. He gestured toward Lt. Stoddard’s table. “Tell Stoddard what’s happened, and our suspicions about human trafficking. See if he’ll meet the FBI guy in a half hour or so.”
Mic nodded, and she and Angel headed over to Stoddard’s table with the message. Stoddard agreed to wait for the FBI although Mic knew he hated to work with them.
Slade joined them. “This FBI agent sounds like a royal pain in the ass. I guess I’ll have to owe you one.” He grinned sheepishly at his boss.
Stoddard scowled, his handsome face scrunched up in a mock frown. “Yeah, for sure. You will owe me. You know I hate the feds,” he said then grinned broadly, “but for you, Slade, I’ll do it just this one time.” He winked at Michaela.
Slade returned the grin and grabbed Michaela's arm as they quickly left Biddy’s through the back door, Angel at Michaela’s side.
"Be careful, Mic. It's icy out here. You don't need to fall," Slade cautioned.
Michaela nodded. "Yeah, I know. I should’ve worn rubber-soled boots. Will you open the backseat door for Angel so he can jump in?"
“Sure, come on, ole boy,” Slade clicked his fingers, and Angel jumped in and lay on his blanket in the back of the cruiser. Mic and Slade were quiet on the ride uptown toward the church on Leigh Street in Slade’s cruiser.